


hold the future's hand

by 7losers



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Eddie Kaspbrak Has Issues, Eddie Kaspbrak Has Powers, Eddie Kaspbrak-centric, F/M, M/M, Other, don't take (some of) the tags too seriously, eddie can see the future (well just a couple times), this is pretty dark but it won't be always i promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:41:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22313425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7losers/pseuds/7losers
Summary: 1994: eddie really can't consider himself to be a seer - not like his father, who saw the future too often for his own good. he really can't. it's not until he sees the death of someone - he could feel the ache in his heart - that maybe he's forced to reconsider his own preconceptions.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, slow burn (?):, soon to be:
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

“Eddie, I’m so worried about you. What happened to your father… the awful things he saw and experienced, _the awful things I saw and experienced_ … I wouldn’t be able to live if it happened to you, too. You’re my only life now.”

Eddie hears this exact phrase four times a week.

He can understand where his mom is coming from, but the all-too-familiar feeling of his throat closing and the way he can feel every nerve sting from his shoulders to his fingertips prevents empathy. He feels _red_ , but it isn’t anger. It’s a faint memory of terror.

He’s not like his father. Eddie has only seen the future once. He barely remembers it, and really, he shouldn’t even be considered to be on the same plane as his dad. Frank Kaspbrak was a true _seer_. And Frank Kaspbrak is dead. Eddie’s mom has not and will not tell Eddie any details about his death; she just alludes to it in ominous, depressing statements. Eddie doesn’t know much about his father’s death, but he knows it was bad.

“I know, Ma.” His voice is quiet, but unwavering, despite the feelings that bubble in his chest. His mom has had a seemingly desperate, protective wing covering him since he was six. He’s seventeen. It’s too much, but it’s all he’s known. He knows how to respond without upsetting his mother. “I’m safe.”

Talking about it doesn’t make him feel safe.

* * *

His dad died less than a year before it happened. Eddie was barely six and still running off the high of being “more than a hand old!”.

The day of, he was running off of another high: he and Sonia were going to see a movie _in theaters_. Eddie was too young to go to a movie theater before his dad died, and afterwards, his mom was too worried about loud sounds and something called “elep-see” that he had never heard about before.

The movie started at 11:00am. She had chosen it – perhaps if he had known what they were going to see he would have thought it “too young” for a hand-plus-year-old – and he was visibly vibrating with excitement in the backseat of their car.

They drove through the suburbs of Derry, inching their way toward the heart. Toward the Aladdin. Sonia was a slow driver, especially in the rain, and Eddie was impatient.

He rested his arm on the windowsill and focused his eyes on the small droplets that rocketed across the window. They were racing each other, similar to how his friends race each other on their bikes. Eddie didn’t have a bike, not yet, but he would when he turned seven.

He eyed one drop in particular – it was bigger than the rest, and had most likely absorbed many other drops on its way across the window – when he heard a crash. His gaze focused back to the street; Mom must’ve driven faster because they were already downtown. Not seeing anything of interest out his window, Eddie peered through the windshield and

( _fear and dread and unimaginable pain and then nothing_ )

he immediately started crying.

The source of the noise was apparent. A bike was splayed near the curb, crumpled at the handlebars. There was also a red car with the top down; it had crashed into a light pole. Near the front of the car, which was all crunched in, dark red clashed with the bright red of the exterior. Eddie, at the ripe age of six, saw his first dead body.

He felt himself scream through his tears, but couldn’t pull his eyes away from the terrible sight. The man was crushed in between the car and the pole. Blood seemed to pour from his chest in a pulse that resembled a heart, but Eddie knew he was dead. His eyes were open, but he couldn’t see. His arms were bent in odd angles and there were other people screaming outside. Eddie couldn’t take the sight anymore and unbuckled, crawling onto the floor of the backseat, closed his eyes, his breathing shallow with exhaustion from fear and tears, _the man was wearing a helmet how did that happen_ –

“EDDIE!”

Sonia’s shout ripped into his terror. He was still the ground, but he felt the car squeal as it abruptly stopped. Eddie’s shoulder bumped into the back of the passenger seat. Sonia’s hand shot down and shook him, but her shrieks faded into Eddie’s own screams of pure horror.

“ _He was red he was wearing red he was wearing a helmet_ _and_ _he was DEAD_!”

Sonia, convincing herself that her son had mentally broke, refusing to accept that he could be anything like her late husband, turned the car around and, instead of going to the hospital like she would in the years to come, went back home.

(That night, after Eddie calmed down and had eventually fallen asleep with red eyes and a raw throat, she sat on her recliner to watch the evening news, just as she did every night. She was half-paying attention – for what would also be the last time in the next eleven years – until she heard the whore newscaster say something about the Aladdin. She peered over her glasses, mouth agape, and turned up the volume.

“The man, who was seen biking on the side of the road, was hit by a car around 3:15pm today. He died on the scene. Those driving the vehicle are unharmed but are being investigated for driving under the influence.”

Sonia, in that moment, knew two things. One: bikers are the bane of society. Two: Eddie had inherited that unholy, sinful trait from his father.)

* * *

Eddie’s tired.

School started up again after winter break two weeks ago, and he hasn’t been sleeping well since. Sonia is in full-fledged protection mode. Convincing her every day to be with his friends is exhausting in itself, and he’s grown tired of the unending monotony. Eddie, at this point in his life, is normally able to stick up for himself, but he finds his anxiety overwhelming in every encounter with his mother.

When his mom was at work during winter break and he was able to answer it without her breathing down his neck – or, rather, from her eavesdropping recliner in the living room adjacent to the corded phone – he had less of a problem.

Now, when he hears the phone, he knows one of two things. One: His mom will pick up with a falsely pleasant, “Kaspbrak residence,” and, learning it’s one of his friends, will hang up without further inquiry. Two: She will talk on the phone for hours with another town mom. She will then complain about the phone bill and not let anybody pick up the phone for the next two days. The phone mocks him, and he feels the shrill tone in his bones.

And his mind will race; he is alone, and he can only think about red.

He hasn’t told his mom – he hasn’t told anybody, not even Bill – but it happened again.

It was the sixth night of winter break. Christmas passed and he was home, but all of his friends were still busy with family (happily or not). He and his mother had gone to see his aunts in Portland, and Eddie had endured three full days of ruffled hair, warm hugs that easily engulfed his short stature, lipstick-stained, freshly pinched cheeks and… being completely honest, it was much better than the normal displays of affection his mother usually gifted him.

But the time with his aunts ended, and he returned to cold Derry, suffocated.

He had just gotten off the phone will Bill, who was fiercely suffering through his first Christmas without his younger brother. Georgie had died seven months prior; the Denbrough parents stopped playing board games with Bill and ended family movie nights. They don’t eat dinner together, either. “They p-p-pretty m-much ignore m-m-m-m-fuck,” Bill tried to tell Eddie a few months ago. His stutter had regressed to middle-school level difficulty since Georgie died. But Bill didn’t need to finish the sentence. Eddie knew.

In the worst way possible, he wishes his mom ignore him the way Bill’s parents do.

He would never tell Bill that.

The phone call ended with a promise: “See you soon.” Bill was coming home tomorrow, but for the rest of the day, Eddie was alone.

He closed his eyes, inhaling for three seconds and exhaling for six.

When he opened his eyes, he was at the Barrens.

_(This was different. The first time it happened, Eddie didn’t understand what was happening. He didn’t understand it at all until he overheard his mom talking to somebody on the phone. He was twelve._

_This time, Eddie was fully aware that he was seeing the future.)_

He was happy. Eddie could feel it. His heart was swollen in his chest and his face flushed under the warm sun. In that moment, he was happy, but his gut betrayed his deeper feelings. He was scared.

 _Red_ , his mind taunted at him.

His friends were with him. Stan was talking in a quiet voice to Bill, Mike, and Ben. He had his bird book sticking out of his pocket, a token of comfort, and his eyebrows were drawn in a way that showed he was extremely focused on his words. Bill and Mike were listening attentively, crossed-legged in the grass, and Ben seemed to be taking notes in a notebook balanced semi-precariously on his thighs.

Beverly was listening too, but not as keenly. Her eyes were ablaze, but her gaze kept shifting from Stan over to Eddie. Eddie didn’t know why, so he gave her – _future-Beverly_ – a small, assuring smile.

“I’ve told you all a million times – I know the answer!”

Eddie’s heart twanged as a new voice blended into the group.

He belatedly noticed that there was another person to his right. Eddie didn’t know who he was. He was at least half a foot taller than him, with dark freckles spattered in random spots on his face, and curly, black hair that was frizzy, no doubt from the heat.

“We tell his assface of a mother what’s happening, and Eds’d never be able to leave the house again!” the newcomer said. Eddie somehow knew that he was joking, but could tell from the vibe of the group that this wasn’t the time to be joking. Stanley shook his head in surface-level annoyance and Ben hyper-focused on his notebook.

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie said before he could catch himself. The boy laughed – it was an obnoxiously loud, genuine laugh – and took Eddie’s hand in his own. Eddie felt his heart skip a beat in his chest and actively pushed down the “you are having a _heart attack_ ” alarm in his head.

“You know I’d never, Eddie Spaghetti,” he said. His thumb gently traced the joints in Eddie’s fingers. He may be scowling on the outside – _Eddie Spaghetti?_ – and anxious on the inside and present-Eddie had zero idea what was going, but he was happy. With his friends surrounding him and this boy holding his hand, he felt his anxiety smothered under a blanket of warmth, comfort, and belonging. They may not completely understand what happened to Eddie and his father, they may not understand what’s happening to him and who’s looking for him, but they’re risking their lives for him.

Eddie’s subconscious knowledge of the situation he was seeing overpowered his present-day confusion.

 _They’re risking his life for me?_ he thought. His heart was beating alarmingly fast in his chest, faster than the pleasant rush of joy it has displayed before. _Who’s looking for me?_

“His m-m-mom is p-part of the p-problem,” Bill said from his spot on the ground. _Part of what problem?_ Eddie wanted to ask. His mind shifted back to the boy’s thumb running along his hand. It was a gentle touch, but his hands were shaking.

He was trying to comfort him.

Eddie couldn’t get enough air into his chest.

“Eds?” the boy next to him asked. Eddie couldn’t even reprimand the nickname. His voice was stuck in his throat. Eddie was too aware of everybody’s eyes on him; Bill immediately jumped up from the ground, no doubt intently focused on not stuttering through breathing exercises, and Eddie, much too belatedly, realized that somebody was crouched in a bush away from their group. Ben, ever-observant, must have noticed too, because he yelled something and –

Eddie heard

( _fear and dread and unimaginable pain and then nothing_ )

a loud noise, a horrible noise that was unfamiliar to Eddie’s ears, but he still knew what it was. He knew what is was, but he couldn’t breathe, and his heart was thumping so hard he’s _going to die_ , and he couldn’t move.

The newcomer moved swiftly in front of him, too close to him, and Eddie couldn’t see anything. He could smell his sweat. He was too tall. His hand was ripped out Eddie’s and he crumpled to the ground. Eddie’s shirt was

(red)

and the boy’s name ripped from the depths of his chest.

* * *

Despite his mom’s persistent tyranny, Eddie goes to Bill’s after school. He doesn’t ask her, and knows it’ll cause a litany of issues when he gets home, but this is more important. He needs to be with friends.

He needs to tell someone.

They’re in Bill’s bedroom, sitting cross-legged on his bed. Eddie finds comfort in the intimacy (even when his feet fall asleep). They’re sitting in silence, Eddie trying to figure out how to begin.

“So,” he chooses, because that’s the best way to begin any important speech about death. “You know how my dad could – um. He could see things? And how I saw the bike crash when I was six?”

Bill nods. His light blue eyes are trained on Eddie. Eddie looks down at his empty hand and knows this is the right thing to do.

“I saw something else.”

Bill’s face loses a bit of color but doesn’t show any other signs of discomfort. “Are you okay?” he asks, because Bill is sweet and empathetic even when he doesn’t understand.

“I’m – yes,” Eddie lies through his teeth. Lying to Bill feels wrong. “No,” he whispers. Bill reaches out a hand to rest gently on Eddie’s exposed calf. Eddie feels a hand being ripped away from his own and a young body, paler than when alive, and the dam breaks.

“I don’t really know what I saw, but we were all there and we were at the Barrens. It was warm so maybe summertime but I don’t know what year but we all looked pretty much the same, and Stan had his bird book and was talking to everyone but there was another boy with us all and he seemed nice-ish, he got along with everyone but, ugh, he called me Eddie Spaghetti and Eds, and then,” Eddie finishes lamely. His fingertips are blazing with nerves and he blinks red. “Somebody shot him.” His voice is quiet. It doesn’t sound right, coming out of his mouth. Almost like saying it out loud makes it real.

_Can anything make it more real than it already will be?_

“D-d-d-did he…?” Bill trails off.

Eddie nods.

“Shit,” Bill says.

“Yeah, shit,” Eddie replies. He can feel his throat threatening to tighten again. He closes his eyes, tears sneaking out, and breathes in for three, out for six. “I don’t know what to do.”

“When d-did you see it?”

“Middle of winter break. The day before you came home.”

“Eddie, I would’ve b-b-been over sooner the next d-d-day if I’d known. I could’ve d-d-done something.” Bill’s eyebrows are drawn together. He’s been a doer since kindergarten.

“I wasn’t ready,” Eddie assures him. He slept for eighteen hours after seeing. The only reason he woke up was because Bill was coming over and wanted to go biking together (after multiple assurances to Sonia, who didn’t take Eddie to the hospital anymore).

“D-Do you w-w-want to tell the others?” Bill asks. Eddie thinks on it for a second, then nods. They were all there; it wouldn’t be fair to subject them to the traumatic death of a stranger (?) just because he’s uncomfortable.

“I’ll tell them tomorrow after school. We can go to the diner and talk.” Eddie doesn’t think he’ll want to go near the Barrens anytime soon. His fingers twitch. He thinks about the panic attack and what had caused it.

 _Somebody’s after him_.

His empty stomach lurches and he can feel the blood drain from his face. Bill notices and asks him what’s wrong, Eddie can hear but his voice is muffled. He doesn’t want to explain it twice.

“There’s more. I’ll tell tomorrow.” It’s a promise.

* * *

Eddie’s in second period (algebra) with Bill, Ben, and Mike the next day. They sit in the front row, all in a vague attempt to absorb more of what their teacher is saying and taking well-written notes to re-absorb in the days before a test. Class hasn’t started yet, so Eddie is trying to briefly explain why he wants to meet at the diner after school. Mike’s already accepted the offer – as have the rest of the group – so there’s no need for justification, but Eddie would rather talk and ramble than sit and stew.

He’s chattering about what he’s going to get at the diner – planning his skimpy meals alludes to being in control of the dreadful situation – but stops mid-sentence.

In the corner of his eyes, he catches a mop of dark, curly hair that he’d only seen once in his life slink to the middle of the room. Bill’s eyes follow Eddie’s and Mike silently questions why he stopped talking in the middle of his diner order.

“Bill, Bill, Bill,” Eddie chants. He can feel his heart rate hasten. He reaches for Bill’s hand and squeezes it so tightly his muscles twitch. He sees

(red)

the garish combination of a checkered blue flannel and lime green undershirt, thick-framed glasses, and long legs scrunched under the attached tabletop. Eddie hears Mike say his name, he hears the school bell chirrup, and an influx of students’ footsteps scrambling to beat the bell.

“Richie,” Eddie says.

He runs to the bathroom and throws up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has been a story idea i've had since... 2014 i think? so here i am, writing it as eddie-centric because he's who i currently project onto. 
> 
> ask me questions about anything, please! i actually have an idea/plan where this is going so it will continue! and it'll have more dialogue i promise :’)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for some offhand mentions of disordered eating <3

Eddie doesn’t return to algebra. 

He collapses onto the floor next to the toilet, too tired to care about the layer of filth that will most likely be coating the butt of his jeans when he finds the energy to stand. His heart thrums against his ribcage, the intensity threatening to overflow again. 

_ Richie _ . It’s too real.

Eddie hears the main door open and Bill’s quiet, sturdy voice echoes in the empty bathroom. “Eddie?” he says. “You know M-M-Mike and B-Ben take good notes. Take your time.” Eddie can see his friend’s feet stop in front of his stall. Bill gets down onto his hands and knees, never worried about grime, and crawls under the stall door. Eddie, who has been holding in tears since winter break, feels his eyes burn when Bill wraps an arm around his shoulder.

“I threw up,” he whispers, because he has hundreds of other things he wants to say. “I probably don’t smell great.”

Bill doesn’t acknowledge it; Eddie knows he doesn’t care. “So,” he begins, mulling over his words, choosing carefully. “That’s him?”

Eddie nods. His heart feels like it’s moved to his throat. Maybe it’ll spill out, he’ll flush it down the toilet, and he won’t have to worry about heartbreak.

“I didn’t realize it’d be this soon,” Eddie says. His voice crackles and he can’t seem to raise it above a whisper. He’s surprised he can talk. “I’m not… I’m not prepared.” Will he ever be prepared? He wants to be. He needs to be.

“W-What d-d-do you w-want me to d-do?”

_ Oh, Bill. _

“Stay,” Eddie says.

* * *

Eddie takes a deep breath, holding the air and bravery and whatever else he can absorb from both himself and the outside world deep in his chest.

He stabilizes himself in the remaining forty-five minutes of algebra, nestled into Bill’s comforting armpit. Despite the low buzz of panic hiding in his fingertips, he decides he wants to return to class.

In the time between second and fifth period, Richie’s presence felt omniscient, omnipresent, and omnipotent. 

Eddie strolls into fifth period with Beverly, eyes peeled, as they had been walking into his other classes. He slides into his normal seat, the warmth of the sun blending with the brisk air seeping from the windowsill to his left. Beverly sits to his right. Richie sits behind him.

Eddie bristles.

_ Richie sits behind him. _

And he whistles. Eddie tries to ignore him. He really does try, but he’s drawn to him, hyperaware of his presence, hyperaware of exactly six contradictory emotions flowing through his mind. Eddie turns around.

Richie’s not whistling. He’s breathing. And apparently, when he breathes, a small whistling sound escapes between his - Richie grins at him, The Cheshire Cat, blue eyes crinkling behind his thick-framed glasses - rather large front teeth covered by silver braces.

_ Oh, God _ .

“Hey, if you take a picture, I’ll sign it for you,” Richie says. Eddie can’t hear the whistling when he talks. He can, however, hear his pulse drumming in his ears.

“Um,” Eddie says eloquently.

“Cat got your tongue?” Richie asks. Eddie almost laughs, uneasy at the allusion to his own thoughts. Richie rests his head on his hand, knobby elbow clearly digging into the desktop. Eddie can feel Richie’s leg bouncing up and down under the desk, vibrating the floor beneath his feet. “When I’m forty and famous, my autograph will sell for a lotta money!”

Bev butts in from next to him, turning around in her chair. She flashes a puzzled glance at Eddie first, but it passes quickly as she makes eye contact with Richie. “I don’t know what’s up with this one, he’s usually more conversational than this,” she says, jabbing her thumb in Eddie’s direction. Eddie tries not to cringe; Bev knows nothing about the situation, so he can’t blame her for any unintentional bluntness.

“Does he have a name?” Richie asks. His gaze turns back to Eddie’s, and Eddie sees blue glimmering in the sunlight ( _ and red on his hands as he collapses to the grass, falling with the blue _ ).

Eddie tears himself out of the faux memory. He can answer this. “Eddie,” a beat, “Kaspbrak.”

Richie beams at him. “Well, Eddie Kaspbrak, and -” he gestures a lanky arm at Bev, who tells him her name, “Beverly Marsh! Richie Tozier, at your service. I would curtsy, but unfortunately, my legs don’t move exactly how I want them to while crunched under these desks. Then again, I’m seventeen, my body doesn’t exactly do what I want it to anyways.” Eddie snorts. He can relate in more ways than Richie anybody would understand.

Eddie’s about to say something back -  _ something _ , because his emotions are starting to resettle and the wheels in his head are finally churning out something other than  _ this is him this is him this is him _ \- but the teacher claps her hands to start class and Eddie turns around quickly, once again alone with his thoughts. He can hear Richie’s whistling faintly under the teacher’s lecture. No offense to Mr. Smith, but he can’t focus on the details of the Franco-Dutch War.

Thankfully - thankfully? Eddie doesn’t know at this point, considering the person sitting behind him - fifth period means lunch and lunch means the class is split in half, which also means a break from his thoughts.

Eddie and Beverly normally have lunch with Mike, who’s alone in pottery for fifth hour. They stand up and Eddie grabs a dollar for an apple from his backpack. Richie immediately starts talking, unfurling himself particularly slowly from the attached desk.

He whistles, actually whistles, not just his teeth, when he’s uncurled to his full height. Eddie and Bev are several steps ahead, uncertain if Richie would follow them, but he catches up easily. “Yowza, you guys are short,” he says. Any lingering trepidation Eddie has vanishes.

“Just because you’re obscenely tall doesn’t mean we’re automatically short,” he says. Bev, who’s now walking in the middle of the two, comes up to Eddie’s chin. She, admittedly, looks a bit silly next to Richie, who must be over a foot taller than her. “Well, Bev’s short.”

“And proud!” she replies, looping her arm around Eddie’s. “So, Richie, what’s your story?”

“Well, when a mommy and a daddy love each other  _ very  _ much,” Richie starts. Despite being in line with both of them, he’s definitely following their lead, the first-day-of-school unease apparent in his purposefully small steps. “Nah, you don’t wanna hear about that. Daddy Warbucks is a dentist and decided to open a new practice here. Nothing exciting.” 

“I couldn't imagine moving to a new school halfway through high school,” Eddie says. He waits while the other two get their lunch. He buys an apple at the checkout as Richie calls to him from the pots filled with overcooked pasta.

“Y’know, Eds, I wasn’t too keen on it either.”

_ Eds _ .

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie says quickly. He doesn’t want to - no, he  _ can’t _ , not right now, not in a crowded lunchroom - hear that nickname.

Richie’s walking over to him, mischievous smile growing once again. He gestures with one down at his pasta, generously sprinkled with that fake, finely grated Parmesan. “You wound me, Eddie Spaghetti.”

Eddie groans. He’s still thinking of summer. “That’s worse. Please don’t.” He knows Richie will keep calling him both, but… Eddie doesn’t know. Maybe something as simple as a missing nickname could change everything.

Mike finds the three of them quickly, Richie’s height adding for some rare ease in the bustle of the cafeteria. Mike, still inquisitive about Eddie’s abrupt disappearance during first hour, meets Eddie’s gaze with the same concerned, confused look Bev had. Mike, bless him, knows how to communicate and introduces himself to Richie without prompting.

“Yeah, I think I saw you in second hour! Algebra, right?” Richie’s waving his his fork, three curly noodles stabbed onto the prongs, in the air, clearly excited to be making connections. Eddie’s heart is in his chest again, but he needs to stop that because -

“Yeah! Eddie’s in that class with me too. Are you feeling better?” Mike asks him. Eddie tries to take the deep, stabilizing breaths while chewing on his apple, which is quite difficult, he finds.

“Yeah, we’re just out of Lactaid. I feel much better now.” Eddie’s face is hot, but pretending to have lactose-induced diarrhea is apparently better than announcing, “ _ Yeah, sorry, Richie, but you’re going to die. By the way, friends, have I mentioned I can kinda see the future? _ ” He also hates lying to his friends, even if it’s temporary.

Beverly and Mike both cringe, shooting him sympathetic and understanding smiles. Richie, in what can only be an attempt to slice through the silence, says, “My old dog got diarrhea a lot when she was dying. Yeah. Sometimes she’d eat grass to help herself throw up, too.” There’s a pause, a beat too long for anybody’s liking. Richie’s voice shifts into a vague accent. “It was quite unfortunate.”

Everybody, Eddie included, laughs. 

“I’m sorry about your dog,” Mike says through deep chortles. “My dog Mr. Chips will do that too. He’s getting up there in age, but he’s doing okay otherwise.”

Eddie’s laughs falter to a grin as Mike and Richie exchange dog stories. Bev jumps in occasionally, tossing anecdotes about the turtle she found when she was six and tried to bring home as a pet. Unable to contibute, Eddie watches Richie, eyes following every sporadic movement of his hands and the way his fingers tap excitedly against the aluminum of his can of Coke. He talks a lot, filling in any gaps where, if heweren’t distracted, Eddie would contribute.

And Richie’s  _ funny _ .

Not even in the “obligatory laugh because I barely know you” sort of way, he’s  _ actually  _ funny. Eddie, once again, is easily able to distract himself from the future. Sure, some of Richie’s jokes are dumb, but Eddie finds himself laughing more than he has since winter break, face flushing with joy and tears sneaking out of his eyes when Richie tells a story about his old dog, complete with imitations of his mom and dad.

Lunch flies by, and when Eddie returns to social studies, Beverly and Richie in tow, he’s present.

* * *

The diner isn’t super full, which helps.

The losers are situated in a corner booth. Eddie, Bill, and Mike are on one side; Ben, Beverly, and Stan on the other. The meeting - which sounds funny, running through Eddie’s head, because it makes it sound like a business lunch - begins similarly to all of their post-school diner runs. Bill complains about math, Eddie does his best to mentally reassure himself that Bill would be complaining about math anyways, disregarding the small fact that Eddie was the reason he missed it. Mike laughs and bumps shoulders with Bill, a light grin on his face and promises to provide tutoring if need be. Stan snorts, Beverly cackles. Eddie stares at his menu for ten minutes before they order, despite knowing that he’s going to order a side salad, Diet Coke, and maybe,  _ maybe _ , if he’s feeling up to it, will sneak a few fries off of Bill’s plate.

After they babble about school, homework, and order food, Bill clears his throat. The rest of the losers halt their side conversations, expectant.

“Yes, my leige?” Stan asks, finger idly twirling the straw in his Coke.

“Eddie?” Bill asks, turning his head to make eye contact.  _ Well, we’re really jumping into this, aren’t we?  _ Eddie thinks, stabbing a few pieces of balsamic-glazed lettuce onto his fork. He thinks of Richie at lunch, waving his noodles around, and takes a deep breath.

“Okay, just a warning, this isn’t going to be a fun topic and I don’t really know how to start besides jumping right into it,” Eddie says in one breath. His palm is sweaty against the fork, so he puts it on the edge of his plate. Bill grasps his other hand, hidden under the table, and squeezes it. It gives Eddie a final push of courage.

“For those of you who may not know, or don’t remember, or - didn’t believe me, I don’t know. My dad could see the future.” Eddie looks up, gauging his friends’ reactions. Everybody is watching him, nodding along. 

Accepting. 

“I can too. I can see the future.” It’s a big admission. Even when he’s talked with Bill, Eddie’s never said the words out loud. Saying it out loud makes it real. But Richie’s real, too, and he needs Eddie’s help. He needs  _ their  _ help. “I didn’t want to drag you guys into this, because it’s my mess.” Bill begins to speak, but Eddie shakes his head vehemently. “No, Bill, it is. I feel bad for even telling you all because it’d only happened once before, when I was six, and it seemed so inconsequential.”

He laughs, heating up. “It fucked me up, but since it’d only happened once over ten years ago, it was easier to ignore.” Eddie thinks of his poor coping mechanisms and his mother’s overbearing nature. Maybe it could’ve been easier. He shoves that thought down into his bottlemess pit of issues.  **“** But… what I saw this winter, I can’t ignore.” 

Eddie’s aware that he’s rambling, putting off the inevitable. The reality has had time to sink in, but he’s always teetering on becoming overwhelmed. Eddie’s shaking from what could be many things: Hunger, anxiety, or using all of his physical strength to grip onto Bill’s hand. “And you’re all there when it happens so I can’t just…  _ allow _ you all to get blindsighted and tramautized. Jesus, okay.” Eddie thinks of Richie holding his hand again and pushes the final, key phrase out.

“Richie dies saving me.”

Eddie hears someone - Mike, perhaps, or Ben - exhale, long and low.

“Richie?” Beverly asks. Her eyes are wide. “Like - social studies and lunch Richie?” Eddie nods. “You saw this during winter break?” Another nod.

“Eddie,” Ben says. His voice is stable, but quiet. “I’m sorry that you’ve been dealing with this on your own.” 

“Saving you?” Stanley asks. His left hand stopped twirling his straw and wringing his right wrist. “What do you mean?”

Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t know. I only heard bits of the conversation before it happened, and I just kind of… knew. I knew that somebody was looking for me and that you guys were risking your lives for me and - and, see!” Eddie can feel his anxiety burning his fingertips, once again bubbling to the surface. “I keep going back and forth and - I really shouldn’t have told you guys about this. Because now you’re involved in whatever the hell this all is, which _I_ don’t even know, and future-me for _some_ Godforesaken reason believes you’re risking your lives for me, and Richie apparently _does_ follow through even though I barely know him.” Eddie’s vision blurs a bit, a pained breath squeezing his chest as he avoids eye contact with his friends. “I’m sorry, everybody. I’m ready to tackle this myself and - I don’t know if telling you all messed up the vision or fixed or if that’s even possible but-”

“Eddie.” It’s Bill. He lets go of Eddie’s hand. “I d-didn’t think we’d b-b-be spending our senior year saving somebody’s life, b-but… I’m here, and always will be.” Eddie looks up sharply. All of his friends are nodding again. “We’ll always be here for you.”

Eddie wants to cry. He loves his friends.

Instead, he says, “Well, let’s figure out how to save him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow ! i've been staring at this chapter for months, despite knowing what needed to be written. shorter chapters are easier for my schedule it seems. please enjoy. :') 
> 
> come chat with me on tumblr @k4spbrak if you'd like <3


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